Specter
by 20Waffles20
Summary: Morgan and Prentiss go for a little drive in the snow. Nothing bad happens, really... Set after season seven, but Emily never left. As is the case with most of my fics. This is a team fic that's Morgan/Prentiss centric.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a long time since Emily had seen this much snow. Looking out her side of the vehicle at the white blanket consuming the wooded area, she couldn't help but think of her time spent in Russia. The roadways were worse than treacherous when it snowed there, and this was comparable. The sky was still sputtering a flurry, but only just enough to be annoying. It was the snow that had already fallen that was troublesome. It had drifted over the path considerably, no doubt making it difficult for Derek to drive.

She took a glance at her partner, glad that it was him behind the wheel and not her. As if on cue, he spoke. "What are you thinking about?"

Her eyebrows rose in way of initial response. Leave it to him to profile her without even peering in her direction. "Traveling," she answered both truthfully and allusively. He smirked before turning slightly to look at her, if only for an instant. She returned the gesture, but chided herself internally for not being more open.

They were on their way to interview a relative of their current suspect, the third one they'd had in as many days. They were still a good hour and a half out, and they didn't have an exact location. Garcia had only been able to find a grandfathered deed that suggested the man lived in a cabin on the outskirts of Yellowstone.

"I was thinking about home," he shared, and it caught her off guard. She thought that she had gotten away with brushing off his question. She knew it was strategic though, a calculated social risk. "Chicago is a lot more populated than western Wyoming, but this weather is reminiscent of the blizzard in '99." He bobbed his head. "I bet that was a rough time to be a uniform."

She turned to face the windshield. "My Mother and I moved to a villa outside of the Embassy in Russia when I was ten, and we lived there for a couple of years." Her teeth grazed her lower lip as she let her eyes flick to the left to see an arrogant smile. "This is a light dusting compared to that. I saw motorists driving on top of at least a foot of snow. Someone would lose control and have a Good Samaritan stop to pull them out of the ditch only to have both cars end up in the same predicament."

He chuckled at her description. "I hear the driving is pretty crazy over there on a good day."

"I don't know that I'd say 'crazy'." She pursed her lips in mock contemplation. "Homicidal? Maybe." They both laughed until the G.P.S. unit grabbed their attention. The route Garcia had programmed began to rapidly alter, leaving the simulated voice stuttering for the correct words. "Guess we're on our own," Emily shrugged, and then reached over and turned the device off.

"Check your phone?" Derek asked, and if she wasn't mistaken, there was a little bit of a nervous quiver in his voice.

She did as he asked, without question. "No service." His response was to clinch his jaw and take a look through his own window. "What's the problem? It's not the first time we've been to B.F.E."

He audibly cleared his throat. "It's just the weather."

* * *

><p>"Try them again." Hotch dragged his hand down his face in frustration. It had only been an hour since Morgan and Prentiss had left, and he was already regretting his decision to let them chance being caught in a winter storm. They had both assured him that they'd seen worse, but that was of little comfort now.<p>

The weather had taken a turn for the worse shortly after their departure, and it didn't look like it was going to get better anytime soon. He glared at the television as he vaguely heard Garcia telling him that her call had gone straight to voicemail for the umpteenth time. He was genuinely worried now. The storm had been officially upgraded to a blizzard, with winds expected to be between forty and sixty miles per hour. It didn't matter what experience they may have had, they were ill prepared for the situation they were in.

"What do we do?" J.J. looked at him uncertainly. They all knew that their friends were in serious trouble.

He didn't have an answer though. He was supposed to, he was the leader after all, but he didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to charge out into the storm and bring his people home, risks be damned. But he knew that was illogical. He couldn't put the rest of his team at risk. "We wait," he decided on. "We work the case until the roads are passable. We'll go out as soon as we can and look for them."

"And in the meantime?" J.J. retorted, clearly not happy with his decision.

He turned around to face her before answering. "They both have ample experience in cold weather climates, we have to assume that they'll take the proper precautions."

Reid's brow furrowed. "They don't even have adequate equipment. At best they have their winter coats, an emergency blanket and maybe a first aid kit in the trunk. How are they going to survive if the temperature drops to twenty below like they have forecasted?" he asked, pointing to the television.

Garcia gasped audibly over the speakerphone, but Dave cut in before she could say anything. "They could be on their way back right now, for all we know. Or they could be stopped on the side of the road, waiting for it to clear up enough to safely drive back."

"But what if they're not?" Reid posited. "What if they're in trouble?"

"Then they have each other," Hotch stated firmly.

* * *

><p>The snowfall had picked up tenfold. What was once a minor annoyance, now making it nearly impossible to see more than five meters in any direction. The S.U.V. was still crawling along the road though. Morgan couldn't figure out if it was stubbornness or determination, but he did not want to turn back. Retreating to the station to tell Hotch that he had failed to do an interview was the last thing he wanted to do. If his passenger had been anyone else, he was sure that they would have removed the decision from his hands. Any other member of the team would have vehemently suggested that they make the return trip, but not Emily. She was just as stubborn as him.<p>

Shortly after the G.P.S. had gone out, she'd freed a map from the glove compartment. Reid's over preparedness had turned out to be a good thing this time, as it had many times in the past. Of course, it hadn't stopped both Derek and Emily from picking on him as soon as he'd offered them a hard copy of their route. It was a skit that they'd done only a few times, but it was one of their favorites. Derek had accepted the map in his left hand, and held up his right. He'd had his index, middle and ring fingers straight up with his pinky folded neatly under his thumb. He knew that Emily had had her back to him. She had been perusing a file at the table behind him, but he'd immediately heard her sound off, 'On my honor I will do my best, to do my duty…' only for her to get interrupted by a very unimpressed Spencer as he left the room.

A puff of air escaped his lips as he silently laughed. "What?" He took a quick peek at Emily, and his laughter intensified as he saw her studying the map. "Oh," she joined in. "You know?" she asked through her own laughter. "That never gets old for me." There was a long moment of silence before she spoke again. "You tired? Need me to take over?"

"Nah, I'm good." He felt her eyes on him again. "I'm fine, really. I've driven in worse."

She folded the map, and set it down on her lap. "I just want to make sure you're not trying to be a macho man. You don't have to impress little old me." Derek felt his brow scrunch together. He glanced at her again, and she was idly playing with the edges of the paper. "I already know you're a big sissy, so don't waste the effort." The megawatt smile she gave him lessened the blow a bit. Seriousness was a rarity between them, and she seemed to be a little bit better at making fun of him than he'd like to admit.

"Don't worry," he played along now. "I'm not tryin' to impress you, sweetheart. I just have the good sense to not let a woman drive."

The shocked look on her face was a good indication that he'd won this round. The map smacking into the side of his head a second later was a solid clue as well. "You do realize that there's a Glock on my hip, right?"

"Believe me, I'm painfully aware." He nodded to the map between them. "How far out do you think we are, navigator?"

"Uh," she began rather uncertainly. "It looked like about thirty minutes, but that's only if the cabin is anywhere near where it's actually supposed to be. Then you have to factor in our speed, or lack thereof." He sighed, knowing that they were a lot farther away than he wanted to be. "If I had a pencil and paper," she paused, and he looked over to see her counting fingers. "And my middle school math teacher leaning over my shoulder, I could probably do that." He chuckled as she deadpanned, an attribute of hers that he was very fond of.

"Right," he shook his head dejectedly. "And what are the chances of this place being where we think it is?"

"Exactly," she responded just as glumly.

They settled back into the silently nerve-racking drive for a few minutes, going slow enough to hear the snow crunching under the tires. He reached for the thermostat, only to feel his hand swatted away. "What?" he protested. "It's getting hot in here."

"Maybe for you," she argued. "You're working up a sweat over there, all I have to do is sit here and look pretty." She removed her left hand from its coat pocket and placed it, not so gently, against his neck.

"Damn, woman!" he was surprised to feel how cold she was. He reached for the knob again, turning it the other way. He then tilted the vents in her direction, grabbing her free hand to place it as close to them as he could. "Get your other hand up here," he ordered.

She complied with an uncharacteristic snigger. "It is so hard to take you seriously sometimes," she said as she shook her head from side to side. He frowned, but she was quick to explain. "Don't worry. It's definitely a good thing, Morgan."

He smiled at her, a smile that was full of warmth. She always had such kind things to say about him. He caught her eye for only a brief moment before his smile twisted into a look of sheer panic. Looking past her, through her window, he saw the front end of a vehicle barreling toward them.

* * *

><p>The bed was stiff, and Emily was hard-pressed to remember a mattress as uncomfortable as this one. That was saying something for a woman who had spent a great deal of her life traveling and staying at various hotels. The bitter cold was what struck her as odd though. Had this particular bed and breakfast forgotten to pay the heating bill? Unpleased with her current state, she tried to sit up. That wasn't right. No, something was restraining her. She hadn't realized it before, but she was having difficulty breathing as well. She paused for a moment to focus on breathing as calmly as possible. After struggling to open her eyes, they were met with a biting wind. She squeezed them shut again, hoping to subdue the sting from the dry winter air. That's when she heard it.<p>

It wasn't an overly familiar sound, but it was one that she knew. It was a sound that she had heard many times before. Her eyes shot open again, scanning her surroundings to the best of her ability. She was still in the S.U.V., but it had flipped on its side and all she could see was snow. The seatbelt was awkwardly constricting her lungs, and she could not find the source of the noise. It was a slow and steady crunching, just barely discernable over the wind. She began to panic. The safety belt clasp was lodged, and she was unable to gain access to her pocketknife. Her only option was to defend herself in the vulnerable position she was currently in, but her weapon was securely wedged between her body and the door.

She looked up to her left to find her partner hanging limp in his own seat, a nasty gash on the left side of his forehead. She fleetingly noticed that his window was gone, and quickly drew the conclusion that his head had busted through it at some point during the wreck. That was definitely enough to knock someone out cold.

"Derek," she whimpered, willing him to hear her. "Morgan, wake up." There was a hint of desperation to her tone, but she couldn't decide if it was from fear or the lack of oxygen.

A break in the white landscape before them tore her attention away from Derek. It was a man, their suspect, stood about eight meters away, a somewhat exhausted smile in place and a rifle in his hands. He was just staring at her, and she back at him.

He took a step forward and she reacted, using everything she had to reach up for Morgan's holster. She got as far as unbuckling the safety strap before she heard the deafening crack of thunder. She wasn't cold anymore. Her chest was searing, painfully so. She had dropped back down, her gaze now fixed on the man that was again walking toward them. She tried to maintain the restricted deep breaths, the only thing she could do to lessen the growing discomfort. She watched as he slowly pulled the bolt back, and then pushed it into place and forced a fresh round into the chamber. "What a shame," he uttered almost apologetically. That certainly wasn't what she had been expecting to hear. She hadn't been expecting anything really. She found herself squirming, trying in vain to escape her binds. If she could just get to her Glock… "I was looking forward to playing with you," he taunted.

He squatted down in front of her, his head tilting as if he were examining her. "It's not every day I come across a couple of Feds." He released a disappointed sigh, returning to his full height. "I guess your partner will just have to suffice," he nodded to Derek. Then he took aim, the barrel of his weapon pointed directly at her head.

**A/N: I had this idea the other day, and decided to run with it. Oh, and reviews make me unnaturally happy.**


	2. Chapter 2

This was a dream. It had to be. The Emily Prentiss that he knew would never sound like that. It came across as helpless, her voice cracking at the edges of his name. Maybe a nightmare would be more accurate. Morgan felt his heart seize. He needed to get to her, had to help her. A tug at his sidearm pulled him that much closer to consciousness. A loud burst jolted his senses, but not nearly as much so as the quiet yelp that had followed.

He was fully present now, and it didn't take him long to work out what had happened. He listened. He knew there'd be an opportunity, but that he'd have to be quick. He could feel a presence next to him, and he heard the man speak once more. Derek had to act now. He opened his eyes as he reached for his weapon. In one fluid motion, he'd released it from the holster and pointed it at the man in front of him. He'd made the decision before his fingertips had even skimmed the grip of his pistol. He fired off four shots, center-mass.

There was no time to consider his actions. He assessed his predicament, finding that the seatbelt was the only thing keeping him suspended. He could feel a cold wetness on his forehead, but didn't care to probe it further. Other than that, he was relatively unharmed. Looking down to his right, he saw a contradictory story. "Emily, talk to me," he ordered.

"I'm alright." She had replied without hesitance, but he could hear the thinly veiled anguish. Fighting against the dull ache that was working its way throughout his body, he braced himself against the steering column.

"Hold on, baby. I'm coming." He gritted his teeth, releasing the seatbelt. He dropped a little farther than he was prepared to, but seamlessly recovered. He found footing on the side of Emily's seat, and on the interior of the door in front of her.

She let out a groan of displeasure as his weight shifted the chair. "You call me that again, and we're going to have a problem."

He apologized as he cut her free. "It's a reflex, Princess." She closed her eyes, and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. She'd been shot, but she could still manage to be pissed off at him. That was a good sign. "I have to check you out. Just hold still."

"No," she pushed him away. He was perplexed at first. "Make sure he's dead," she commanded. He cursed himself, knowing that that should have been his first move after getting free.

He stepped out through the windshield, and then kicked the rifle away. Bending down, he felt for a pulse. Derek's face fell for a moment, and then he sprang back to his feet. The guy was a goner and he couldn't possibly care less. He took the time to haul the man's body out of the way. His heart was pounding. He hadn't done much physically, but his mind was racing.

He turned back to Emily, shaking his head. "I've gotta get you lying flat," he warned. He wrapped a hand gently around the back of her neck and placed the other one under her right side. Carefully, he pulled her toward him. She couldn't suppress a moan of agony at being moved. He felt bad, but it had to be done.

The wail slowly morphed into a sentence as he eased her down. "If you're trying to kill me, I can think of easier ways."

He ignored her, instead opening her jacket and then unbuttoning her top. It could have been a lot worse, but it didn't look pretty at all. It looked like the bullet had made direct impact with her right clavicle. He put his hand back under her neck, and then pulled her upper body to his chest. He didn't see the bullet, but it hadn't gone completely through her shoulder either. He laid her back down on the snow. She'd need surgery, the sooner the better.

"I know that look." He turned his gaze to her. He hadn't realized that he had not yet removed his hand from her neck. "You're not allowed to panic, Derek Morgan."

He swallowed thickly. "I'm not."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me." She brought her hand up to grasp his wrist. "Everything's going to be okay."

He blinked, shaking his head and finding himself smiling again. "I'm supposed to be the one comforting you."

"Well," she huffed. "You're not doing a very good job, mister."

"It's gonna be all right," he assured her. "I'll be right back." She nodded her understanding, and he stood up.

He raced to the back of the S.U.V., stopping when the undercarriage came into view. The fuel line was ruptured, and he knew it wouldn't take much to set it off. He ran back around to Emily, begging for forgiveness as he hastily dragged her from the wreckage. She wasn't happy, but she was out of the way of immediate danger. He went to the rear of the vehicle, quickly searching for the supplies he needed, and then hustled back to the front. If the battery was still attached, he could get a message out over the bureau C.B. radio. It was a long shot considering that they hadn't been able to establish contact with anyone earlier, but he was willing.

"This is S.S.A. Derek Morgan, does anyone read me? Repeat, does anyone read me?" His query was met with static. At least it was on. He waited a few seconds before repeating the message.

The static was suddenly replaced by a teeth-rattling shrill, and then cut to a voice. "…Morgan…read you."

"Say again? I don't copy." He spoke clearly and precisely, knowing he didn't have a lot of time.

There was a brief cut in the static, and the voice returned. "Agent…you've reach…station…Hotchner has ordered…retur…immediately."

"Morgan!" His head snapped back to his partner. Despite the short distance between them, he could barely see her. She was clearly worried, and he was assuming it was because she'd lost a visual on him as well. He looked around, finally noticing the turn in the weather. It had only gotten worse, and he knew they couldn't stay here.

"Hold on, Prentiss!" He turned back to the microphone, but the static had gone quiet. He relayed his message anyway, giving the details of their situation, only to be answered with silence. Exasperated, he threw the microphone back into the vehicle. "Emily?" As he approached her, he could see that she wasn't moving.

"I'm fine," she answered with closed eyes. "Cold as hell, but I'm fine."

He placed a small box down next to her, a standard issue first aid kit being the only supply he'd found. "We've got to get you out of here." He sat her up, and then placed the rudimentary kit on her lap. He picked her up as gingerly as possible, knowing full well she'd hate it and insist she could walk. Disregarding her protests, he carried her up the steep embankment that lead to the road. The snow had made it indiscernible while they were driving, but the angle was impressive. Had he known about the drop-off, it would have been one more reason for him to turn around and go back to the station. Now he found himself wishing he had.

* * *

><p>"Agent Hotchner?" a gaunt face queried from the doorway to the small conference room that his team was gathered in. It was the station's receptionist, a frail looking lady in her sixties.<p>

"Yes?" Hotch responded cordially. The woman was wringing her hands, and seemingly having a difficult time standing still.

"I've just received a transmission over the wireless." His posture straightened, his entire body ready to react to her next words. He'd asked her to keep a handheld transceiver tuned to the Bureau's frequency when it was evident that Morgan and Prentiss hadn't decided to come back, and the pair hadn't responded to any attempts to contact them over the scanner.

"My agents?" he prompted.

"Yes, sir." Her expression was sullen. "Agent Morgan tried to hail us. Unfortunately, that's all I got. I tried to raise him again, but there was no answer."

Hotch took in a labored breath. "You gave him my orders?"

"Yes, sir." She nodded adamantly. "I relayed them twice."

"Thank you," he dismissed. The storm was raging now, and there was nothing to be done.

He turned his attention to the rest of his team. If it was possible, they looked even more worried now. Dave had leaned back in his chair, bringing his hand up over his mouth. It wasn't often that the man outwardly expressed his emotions. Hotch found himself rubbing the back of his neck, contemplating his choice of words.

"We don't tell Penelope about this," he ordered softly. "Not yet."

"What does that mean?" J.J.'s volume fluctuated back and forth, barely containing her own emotions. "I mean, should we be happy that they contacted us or…" She trailed off, and he didn't blame her. No one wanted to think of the alternative, let alone say it out loud. He definitely didn't want to bring up the point that there was no word on Emily either. They knew that Derek was at least alive for the time being, but they didn't have that solace with his female counterpart.

Hotch tried to clear his mind of the thoughts. They needed to assume that the duo was fine, that they were hole up somewhere. But with the things that they routinely saw, it was so difficult to think positively in such a situation.

* * *

><p>It had been a difficult, albeit short trek by the time he had gotten to the top. He looked back down, taking a brief moment to process how lucky they'd been. Then he turned as efficiently as possible in the white fluff, and with the added restriction of Emily in his arms. The complaints had ceased, and he looked down to see her features scrunched in pain. "I know," he uttered. He'd only felt this way about the woman a handful of times. When she'd first joined the team, when she'd been at the mercy of the cult leader in Colorado, when she'd gone into Joe Smith's house and come out with a concussion, when she'd been shot and when he'd found her bleeding to death in that warehouse in Boston. She needed him, and he needed her to be safe.<p>

He took in his surroundings, forcing himself to disregard his own discomfort. The wind had picked up considerably, and it was assaulting every bit of his exposed skin. That, added to the soreness that was already settling in from the crash, was enough to have him wishing that he were anywhere else right now. Somewhere warm, somewhere that he could get his partner the help she so desperately needed. Wishful thinking wasn't going to help him though. Derek spotted what he was looking for, and made for it as quickly as possible.

It was an old model pickup truck. Not his first choice for transportation, but it would do the job. He managed to gracefully stumble to the driver's side door, and then open it using the hand that was supporting Emily's legs. He didn't know much about older vehicles, but he'd been right to suspect a raggedy bench seat.

"I'm okay," he just barely heard her mumble as he situated her in the cab.

"I know you are." He swallowed heavily, and closed his eyes.

She was on the verge of losing consciousness all together, and he wasn't happy about the prospect. He had to stop the bleeding and get her warm. He hopped into the cab himself, frantically flipping the levers on the heater control panel as he did. No heat. His open hands collided with the dash in frustration.

Subduing the rage that had flooded to the surface, he realized that he hadn't started the pickup yet. He inhaled deeply as he maneuvered his upper body to get a good look at the ignition. Derek was hoping that the bastard that had put them in this position had had the common courtesy to leave his keys there. He was met with the next best thing; the ignition casing had been popped off, and a screwdriver jammed into the key slot. He pushed down the clutch and wrenched the handle of the screwdriver forward. The engine roared to life, and he breathlessly thanked every deity that came to mind.

He flipped the levers again, this time with a smile on his face. It was an expression that quickly faltered. "Dammit!" He immediately regretted the verbal outburst, feeling more than seeing Emily jump in the seat next to him. She was leaning heavily on his shoulder now. "I'm sorry," he was compelled to whisper, not entirely sure what all he was apologizing for.

He looked her over intensely. She was much more pale than normal, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared. He was certain of only one thing, they wouldn't be able to stay here. With no heat, and a worsening storm, they had to move. On the top of the list of things that he wasn't confident about was where he should take her. The most comforting choice was back into town, to the hospital. He knew that they were at least an hour and a half's drive from the edge of town. With the blizzard that was in effect, that time may as well be tripled. That was only assuming that they didn't careen off the road somewhere along the way. He didn't know if Emily had that much time, and he couldn't risk traveling that distance. That only left one viable option.

"Em?" He dropped his hand to her knee to gain her attention. He received an incoherent murmur. "We're going to find that cabin."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Well, I got lost for a bit there. I cranked this out today, so please excuse any mistakes. That is, if there are still readers out there. There is one more, short chapter in the works. It's about 50% complete, and I'm going to try to go ahead and get it up as soon as possible. Thank you for the reviews, and I do apologize for taking so long.**

A gut instinct had taken Derek off the main road about ten minutes ago. He had seen what could have been a manmade path jutting off to the left. Of course, he had no way of knowing if that were the case. He was beginning to believe that he'd made a mistake, but there was no turning back now. Then it had appeared, like a beacon in the dark; the cabin was on the verge of being overrun by snow and forest alike.

As he pushed the door in, he wasn't sure if it even qualified as a cabin. It was more like a small shack. The naked infrastructure was sagging, and he couldn't quite tell how it was still standing. It creaked and moaned with the wind, giving voice to its weakness. He slid through the entrance anyway, his pistol steadily leading the way. Their UnSub wasn't supposed to live here, wasn't supposed to be anywhere near here, maybe he'd been closer with his uncle than they'd thought. Maybe the uncle knew; maybe he'd facilitated the evolution. There was a loud crack, and Morgan spun on his heel. The door had slammed shut. He quickly stepped up to the window beside it, making sure that Prentiss was still secure. Satisfied, he took another look around the one-room shanty. It was the best they were going to get.

He holstered his weapon and went to retrieve his partner. She was right where he'd left her, pitifully curled up with her head resting on the bench where his lap had been. He pulled her toward him, and then carefully picked her up again. She was going to give him hell when they got out of this one.

He kicked the lose door open, and then walked through. He was mindful of his partner, not wanting to jostle her anymore than necessary. She was in rough enough shape. He knew first-aid procedures, and he knew better than to go prodding around the wound. The best he could do for her would be to stop the bleeding. The cold weather had been a blessing up to this point. The frigid temperature had thickened the exposed blood, giving them time, but it was only a stopgap. And they'd both be in trouble if he didn't find a way to warm them up soon.

"Uncle," he heard Emily mumble. It took him a moment to understand that it was a question. She was asking for the whereabouts of their suspect's relative.

"I checked, he's not here." Derek looked around the room. He had checked, but not very thoroughly. Truth be told, he thought, the uncle could walk in at any moment. He hurried over to the cot in one corner of the room. It was just as dank as the rest of their surroundings, but it would have to do.

After laying her down, he scanned the room again until his eyes landed on some pots and pans stacked haphazardly near the fireplace. "Alrighty. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to be warm." First he reached to the foot of the cot, pulling the blanket that had been discarded there over Emily. Then he moved toward the fireplace. It was seemingly the only thing in the cabin that had been well kept, a necessity for the cold climate. Not only that, but he'd been left with all the makings of a decent fire.

The kindling had caught quickly, a tiny flame sparking to life. And he moved with a fluid quickness. He gathered the two biggest pots he could find, and rushed outside to fill them with snow. He was going to need plenty of sterile water to clean and dress his partner's wounds.

As he rushed back in, he was surprised to find Emily sitting up at the edge of the cot. "No, no, no." He set the freshly collected snow on the floor where he stood, and glided over to her. He placed a hand firmly but gently to her uninjured shoulder, and quietly urged her to lie back down. "You okay?" he asked, only remotely realizing what a dumb question that was.

"Yeah," she ground out. He could tell that Emily was in some serious agony. "I think you should take it out."

"Hell no." Her eyes narrowed in a deadly fashion. "You can glare all you want, baby girl, it ain't gonna happen." He pulled the musty quilt back over her. "I've got some triage in the works, sit tight."

She groused heartily as he retrieved the pots and set the biggest up in the fire to liquefy the snow and, eventually, boil the water. He'd have to add more as the snow melted away though, and he set the smaller pot next to the fire to allow its contents thaw as well.

* * *

><p>A short while later, Morgan was sitting precariously on the edge of the cot himself. Emily hadn't been happy about the idea of cutting the right side of her blouse away, but had quickly conceded that it was ruined anyway. It had to have been torture for her, but he had delicately cleansed the dried blood from her shoulder and was now working on a makeshift bandage.<p>

"Why is it," Emily began exaggeratedly, "that you can never find a band aide that's the correct size for your wound?"

Derek chuckled softly. Apparently, whoever had decided on the standard medical kits for bureau vehicles, had assumed that the worst wound field agents would encounter would be a paper cut.

"You need to take care of your head too," she said in a much more serious tone.

He looked down at her and grinned warmly, the outside corners of his eyes crinkling together. Even in her current state, she was more concerned about him. "I'll get to it," he nodded.

He saw her struggle somewhat to swallow. "How do you think he knew?" Derek met her eyes, slightly shaking his head to show confusion. "That we were 'Feds'," she quoted with one hand.

He shrugged. "Guess he heard about us being in town, figured we'd be the only ones stupid enough to be driving in this white death." Morgan was pleased with the small laugh he got for the use of Garcia's favorite euphemism for snow.

"It's not your fault, you know?"

He smirked tenderly. "I know. It's your fault." Her nose scrunched up in telltale indignation. "All you had to do was order me to turn around," he raised his eyebrows in a blasé manner to really sell it.

"Right," she half laughed the word. "Because you would have definitely listened to me." He held her gaze for a moment as they had a silent conversation. They had both been too stubborn, and they knew that the blame was equally divided between them.

Morgan set the kit and used rags off to the side. "Get some sleep, Prentiss."

"Yes, sir," she half mocked.

He watched her nod off, thinking about what options they had. There weren't many: wait for the team to find them, or find their own way back. Either course was going to require some serious effort on his part, and he had no idea what was best for Emily. He was no longer sitting on the cot, but he was still in a very precarious position. He decided on the third option. They'd wait until the storm had subsided a bit, and then brave the elements.

Exhausted, he slumped to the floor next to the cot. He'd had a steady stream of adrenaline rushing through him since he'd regained consciousness in the S.U.V. It was more than tiring, and his body was starting to give in to the pain from the crash. It was now, or quite possibly never. Morgan pushed himself to his feet and headed back outside. He didn't know how long they were going to be there, and he damn sure didn't want to run out of dry firewood.

The exposure to the wind and cold only intensified the awful ache in his limbs and torso, and he found himself rubbing at his chest. Seat belts might save lives, but he certainly wasn't fond of them at the moment. He jammed his ungloved hands back into the pockets of his coat, vaguely hearing his Momma's voice scolding him for not wearing appropriate clothing as she had done so many times while he was growing up. He just hoped that his venture around the perimeter of the cabin proved fruitful. Surely, the inhabitant would have some precut wood. A worn, green tarp around the back looks far better to him than it probably should. There were holes, but the wooden logs should be mostly dry.

With a rather large smile in place, he ripped one end of the tarp away. The brief moment of happiness faded immediately, and his hand dropped to his sidearm as a precaution. A pair of lifeless feet had been revealed on the ground. Morgan carefully used his free hand to tear the tarp farther away, revealing a dead body with a familiar face. At least he didn't have to worry about the uncle anymore. He grabbed as much wood as he could carry, and left the tarp the way it was. He'd make two more trips before falling to the ground in front of the fireplace, and then drifting into a fitful slumber with a fur rug as a makeshift pillow that he'd rather not think about.

* * *

><p>"J.J., see if you can get Garcia back on the line." They hadn't had contact in hours, and Hotch found himself worried about the bubbly technical analyst. He knew she'd be a mess by now.<p>

The weather had begun to clear, and he wasn't the only one chomping at the bit to head off in search of his subordinates. He looked over to Reid and saw him tucking his pant legs into his snow boots, eyes firmly fixed on the once again functioning television.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Hotch's eyes flicked back to J.J. "It's okay, Pen. Everyone's fine here." She turned wide eyes to him, and he motioned for her to put the call on speakerphone.

"I don't care what you say, missy, or what my orders are from Hotch, I am coming out there!" She had certainly worked herself up. Understandable as it may be in their current situation, it wasn't going to help anyone if she jumped on a plane to join them in Wyoming. Better yet, Hotch highly doubted there would be any traffic at nearby airports.

"Garcia," he stated resolutely. She stopped her rant, and fell silent at the bass in his voice. "We are fine, but we haven't heard from Emily and Derek in quite a while." He heard her suck in a breath, but continued. With Penelope, it was always best to rip the band aide off quickly. "Derek radioed in a little over sixteen hours ago, but we weren't able to get a status report from him."

"What do you need, sir?" That was the Garcia that he wanted, the one they needed, and it brought a small smile to his face.

"I'd like you to see if you can trace their cell phones, though I doubt you'll get anything. If they had service, they would have called in." He immediately heard the tapping of keys as he continued to issue commands. "Then I'd like you to check the GPS attached to the Suburban." An idea came to mind then. "Is there anyway we could track the frequency from the C.B.?"

"Absolutely, sir. And may I say what fantastic idea that is!" There was a rustling on the other end, and it sounded like Penelope had put them on speakerphone as well. "I'm absolutely positive that the young Doctor knows about R.D.F.," she said confidently.

"Radio Direction Finding," Reid nodded absently, still engrossed in the words of the meteorologist.

"Exactly," the technical analyst returned with enthusiasm. "If that Radio is on and transmitting, boy genius could do the math in his sleep. All you need is two receivers set up in two different…"

"That's probably not going to do us any good either," Hotch cut her off. "There hasn't been a transmission in almost a day. We have to assume that they either don't have access to the C.B., or that it's not working."

"Where does that leave us then?" Rossi asked.

"Garcia," Hotch called to her. "We're going to need you to send us the same route you gave Morgan and Prentiss."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Hey guys, long time no read. My apologies for that, I've hit a bit of a rough patch in life. Things have settled a little, so I'm hoping to get back into writing. Thanks for sticking with me.**

Derek awoke with a start. He got to his feet, and then quickly scanned his surroundings. Something felt off. His coordination was lacking, but the adrenaline pumping through him would compensate momentarily. He ran over to the door and pushed the chunks of wood he'd used to keep it shut to the side. He surveyed the area, but saw nothing. No sign of life, malevolent or otherwise. His eyes blinked in an attempt to defend themselves against the cold. The snow had stopped falling, and the tiny cabin seemed to be sealed in by the silence. The now still scenery really was quite beautiful, even if it had left him stranded with a wounded friend.

He turned around at that thought. Emily had dozed off shortly before him. He needed to wake her. As he walked toward her, she stirred. He used an upbeat voice, although he felt anything but. "Hey, sunshine." She didn't respond. No witty retort, no annoyed scowl. She only stared at the ceiling. "Emily?"

Her eyes closed, and it almost seemed as though that act alone caused her excruciating pain. "I'm sorry," she uttered.

"Hey," he cooed. "You're okay. You're going to be okay." He sat down on the edge of the cot again and took her hand. She looked weak, and he hated himself for even thinking that.

That settled any qualms in his mind. At the very least, there was a break in the wintry weather. His partner was stable, he'd managed to stop the bleeding, and he had a mode of transport. However arduous a journey it would be, he was going to get Emily back to civilization.

He briskly got to his feet, and then carefully tucked her hand back under the blanket. He'd have to do a lot of hard work before he'd even be able to think about getting that truck back on the road though, and it would be a cold ride when they did leave. He looked over to his partner again before throwing another log on the fire. Then he went dig the old beater out and clear a path to turn it around.

* * *

><p>"Radio's busted," J.J. said, not bothering to turn her head toward the other members of her team. She'd genuinely surprised Hotch, galloping down to the upturned S.U.V. and not breaking stride when she'd reached the bottom of the embankment. "There's blood." He, Dave and Reid had caught up to her now. "Who was in the passenger's seat?" she asked in a worried tone.<p>

"It was Prentiss," Hotch answered. He was only confirming what they all knew. Derek was an alpha male, and Emily was almost always willing to relinquish that little bit of control to him.

Dave spoke up from behind. "We need to get a search team organized." Hotch heard the other man's voice turn away from him. He glanced back to see that the deputies had finally caught up, and that Dave was speaking to them. "Our agents have been out here for a little over twenty hours."

"One of them is injured," Reid joined in. "They probably wouldn't have gotten far."

Hotch turned back to the blonde, more curious to see what she had found, but something on the ground caught his eye. He stepped forward wordlessly, placing a hand on J.J.'s shoulder to keep her from backing into him. The snow had turned pink where her boots had been and he deftly swept the top layer to the side with his own foot. He uncovered a deep red patch, three times the size of the initial discoloring. J.J. was looking down now too, her attention having been drawn to his actions. She stepped back immediately, as if he'd revealed a puddle of molten lava. Those footprints too were tinted pink and she quickly slid behind him, her back brushing the hood of the upturned vehicle as she made her escape.

He swiped at the snow again, this time finding the edge of the pattern and the beginning of a trail. "What is it?" he heard Dave call out among approaching footsteps.

"Blood," he answered shortly, consumed now with finding the end of the dwindling line of vital fluid. He came upon a rifle first, a little more than a meter from the front bumper of the S.U.V. The others were following closely now. The trail had stopped near the rifle, but Hotch continued searching in a straight line. He studied the surrounding area, confused. There was nothing there.

"I've got a body!" he heard one of the uniforms yell. He spun around to find the man closer to the vehicle than the weapon had been, but off to the left. Hotch suddenly found it difficult to move. "Male, Caucasian, looks like our suspect to me." He felt the tension in his body loosen, and then calmly jogged over to the scene.

After getting a good look, he concurred. They had definitely found their suspect. "I want this entire area thoroughly searched. If there is any sign of my agents, I want to be notified immediately."

* * *

><p>Derek couldn't believe his eyes. As the cab of the truck rose over the top of the hill, he could just make it out. It was their crash site. On the road he saw two black S.U.V.'s, they were a stark contrast to the white surrounding them. Both of them were parked diagonally in the road, like the respective drivers had hit the brakes and slid to a stop on the icy roadway. They made the road effectively impassable. He could make out the local police department's S.U.V.'s now too. Three of them stacked up behind the F.B.I. vehicles, parked just as haphazardly. The next thing he saw brought a smile to his face. It made the whole scene register, grounding him in the reality of it; they were done, and they were safe. He saw Dave emerging from the right side of the road.<p>

Derek released his death grip on the steering wheel to place his hand to his chest. Morgan couldn't remember a time he'd been more relieved. Just as instinctively, his hand went to Emily next. He grasped her upper arm before letting his hand slide down to take hold of hers. They'd made it, and she was going to be okay. He knew that for a fact, even though it wasn't.

* * *

><p>Dave shook his head in resignation. He had gone down the embankment thinking their people had been in an accident, now he didn't know what had happened. Had the UnSub happened upon them, or had he gotten the drop on them somehow? It was all too much to digest right now. He turned his back to the scene and began the march up to the roadway. By the time he got to the top, he had his hands on his knees and was trying to catch his breath.<p>

Then he heard something over the voices of the people down below. It was a truck, early fifties model. He squinted to shield his eyes from the white landscape. It was them. He couldn't see clearly, they weren't close enough. But he knew.

A slow smile filled his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He waved as if he were flagging down an airplane, not quite in control of his own actions. Then he turned back to look down the embankment and yell to the others. "Guys, I think there's something you should see up here!"

His smile began to fade. It was most definitely them, but Emily was slumped against Morgan's shoulder. Something was very wrong. He'd been hoping that the blood in and around their S.U.V. had been that of the killers, but now he was more worried than ever. He ran toward the truck as Morgan neared, opening the passenger door before they had even come to a stop.

Emily was in bad shape, her face pale and gaunt. It was a far cry from her normal, glowing self. She turned her head to face him, and that action alone seemed to take all the strength she had left. "There's a bit of a drop-off," she said, nodding toward the edge of the road. A small echo of Dave's previous smile returned to his face. Maybe she wasn't so bad off after all.

* * *

><p>"Watch her shoulders," Derek warned as he scooted Emily and himself closer to the door. His sole focus was now on getting her out of the beaten down truck, and into one of the heated S.U.V.'s. He carefully supported her back while they turned her to the side. Dave was swift and gentle, pulling Emily's legs from the cab and letting them hang over the side of the seat. Derek looked up momentarily to see the worried faces of his other colleagues rushing toward them. Hotch diverged from the pack about two meters short of the open door, ducking behind one of the parked bureau vehicles. Derek let Dave stabilize Emily as he climbed out of his side of the truck, and then jogged around to take a space next to her once more.<p>

"What happened?" J.J. asked as she came to a stop in front of them.

Derek paused to think about how he would begin to explain their ordeal, but worry for his partner's wellbeing was first and foremost. "She's been shot," he settled on. He'd have plenty of time to fill them in later. "I managed to stop the bleeding, but she's going to need surgery." He hadn't realized how cold he was until he saw Hotch emerge once again with an emergency blanket in hand. Morgan and Dave gingerly secured the fabric around her shoulders, and then Derek took her battered body into his own abused arms.

The others stepped aside as he walked through them to the S.U.V., Hotch trotting ahead to open the back passenger side door. Derek slipped in, and then carefully slid Emily onto the bench beside him. He let his head fall back in the first moment of relaxation and security he'd had in days. He was startled to feel a hand caressing the arm that he had around Emily's waist, though he couldn't bring himself to react in a startled manner. He lazily rolled his head to the right to find J.J. "Thank you," she said directly. "I'm glad that you're both okay." And so was he.

**Thanks for reading!**


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